“Mom, when’s my first game?” he calls over his shoulder.
“January,” Jo answers.
“I’ll have to catch one of your games,” I say, handing the phone back. From across the room, I catch Jo’s gaze and she offers me a small smile. Returning the smile, our eyes lock for a heartbeat before she turns back to her conversation.
Dinner is delicious, as I knew it would be. My mom helped Penny cook, and nobody’s chicken and dressing compares to hers. Penny’s intentionally seated me beside Jo, and I don’t misshow her breath hitches each time my arm brushes hers. When I stand to refill my tea, I ask if she’d like more, and her eyes soften like I’ve done something more than offer a simple refill. Does nobody do things for this woman?
“So, Josie,” my mom says, bringing her attention to Jo. “Penny tells me you’re a teacher. What do you teach?”
Jo swallows her bite before answering. “I teach art at the high school.”
“She doesn’t only teach art,” Penny cuts in. “She runs a whole after-school program. Plus, she’s got an Etsy shop where she sells her own paintings.”
Penny glances over at Jo and gives her a wink.
“Oh yeah? Tell me about the after-school program.” For years, my mom was the secretary at the middle school back home. Anything school related always interests her.
“It’s basically art therapy. I collaborate with the school counselor to support the kids who might be struggling. Mentally, emotionally, academically, anything they need. Mental health in teens is…” She pauses and cocks her head, humming. “Not great these days. I’m not saying art can solve it, but studies show it helps.”
Mom raises her brows, clearly impressed, and hell, so am I. She may not have left this town, but she created something meaningful here and still found a way to do art therapy. I don’t know how she doesn’t walk around bragging about herself every damn day.
“What type of projects do you do with them?” Mom asks.
Jo straightens at this question, her face lighting up. “All kinds. Mostly stuff to help them process their emotions. There’s something lovely about a blank canvas sitting in front of those kids. It’s almost poetic, like a blank slate where each student can start from scratch. Right now, I’m working on getting approval from the board and the town for a mural project. It’s something I helped with in college. Then it’d be out there for the whole town to find inspiration from.”
“You’re amazing,” I say, before I even realize the words are out of my mouth.
The entire table goes still, and every head turns my way. Jo blinks, eyes wide, and I clear my throat, heat crawling up my neck.
“I mean—that’s amazing. The project. Amazing.” I stumble over my words in a paltry attempt to tamp down my earnestness. Suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, I remove my glasses and clean them with the hem of my shirt.
My dad chuckles low under his breath and Penny smirks. Jo rolls her lips together, trying and failing to hide her smile.
Mercifully, Mom speaks up again, determined to get to know Jo and her family. “I’ve heard all about Jay’s basketball skills, but Abby, tell me about you.”
Abby shrugs, eyes on her plate.
“Tell them about concert band, sweetie,” Jo encourages.
“I play flute,” Abby says, still not looking up.
“She’s first chair.” Jo beams at her daughter across the table. “As a thirteen year old.”
“I’m basically fourteen—in two months,” Abby corrects.
My mom gives Abby a big smile. “Wow! First chair at your age! Color me impressed.” That earns a flicker of pride from Abby and finally she lifts her head.
“I am. I have a solo in our Christmas concert. It’s in two weeks.”
“Well then,” Mom says, her voice full of warmth. “I love a good band concert. Maybe Brad and I should extend our stay and get to know Singing River a while longer. We’ve got a concert to attend.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Jo blinking rapidly, nose scrunched. I’ll have to remember to thank my mom for being who she is. I’ve always admired her kindness, her thoughtfulness, but tonight I admire her even more.
We finish dinner and move to dessert while everyone chatsaround the table. When Jo stands to clear her dishes, I rise with her and take the dishes from her hands.
“I’ve got this, Jo. You stay seated.” She watches me, something unreadable in her expression, but doesn’t stop me.
Austin heads to the kitchen to clean up, and my dad and I follow, leaving the ladies and Jay at the table. He’s got Jo’s phone in front of him, fingers tapping away at some game, while Abby sits quietly, folding her napkin into a perfect little square. Over and over again.
